


nerves

by decidingdolan



Series: us two [2]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: (not) baking shenanigans, M/M, how Poe and Finn (unintentionally) ruined Rey's kitchen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 17:44:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5752414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decidingdolan/pseuds/decidingdolan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finn's stress-baking. Poe steps in, and cream cheese has never quite tasted the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	nerves

**Author's Note:**

> recommended soundtrack: Marvin Gaye - Charlie Puth (ft. Meghan Trainor)

 

 

>   _What burns me now? Desire, desire, desire._
> 
>    _\---Theodore Roethke_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  

* * *

 

You’d rather not explain to Rey how you'd messed up her kitchen.

Well, you and him. You and him both.

No one was to blame. _Pas de deux._

You’d gotten off of a flying lesson, head too hot and nerves wounded too tight. Poe’s plain black tee, the one with a miniature Resistance logo on its left sleeve, stuck to your skin. Blots of machine oil dotted your army pants, and you’d found small flecks of dust in your hair.

_That’s it._

_Time for a change._

So you ran over to your kitchen and dug out a datapad from one of the drawers. The sink was blocked, and you happened to have Rey’s spare key stashed in the cabinet underneath it.

_Sorry, Rey. Just this once._

You weren’t a stressbaker, you told yourself. It started with that batch of white chocolate banana muffins for Poe, and you’d hoped it’d end at just that.

But brownies. Cakes. Eclairs followed. Even cream puffs, on occasional late nights. Poe wandered into your kitchen once (it was an honest mistake, right?), dazed. Dipped a finger into your batter and licked sugary goo off his skin, right in front of you.

Your heart started picking up its beats, and you weren’t quite sure why.

He waved a hand, nodded at you, and disappeared back to his side of the hallway.

You grabbed the wooden spoon, turned it clockwise in the batter once, and heaved a sigh.

_Damn it, Finn. What in the universe is wrong with you?_

And you picked cupcakes this time. Red velvet and cream cheese. The sweet and the sour—you needed contrasts for today.

You knocked the egg whites into the bowl, started beating them, and hummed a tune. Maybe he’d infected you—that frequent humming of his. You’d listened and you’d listened, picked up half phrases and long notes from him. The cheerful and the tragic.

There’s little to think of when you were left alone, you and that bowl. That spoon, the baking soda and cocoa powder. There’s silence, and the melody of your voice.

He stepped into the room just as you’d finished mixing together the cream cheese. Came round to your side of the counter. You dipped a finger into the bowl, at the sight of him, without thinking. He was wearing a pale green tee with torn up jeans, the classic day-off outfit, those gorgeous (shut up, brain) black locks in disarray.

You reached out the finger to him, smiling. Asked if he wanted some.

“Just mixed it,” you added, willing yourself to meet his eyes, and the reflection of you in those dark browns were (slightly) startling. “Cream cheese.”

He stared at you, licked his lips. Beads of sweat on his forehead. Poe sucked in a breath, hands in his jeans’ pockets, and you tilted your head in his direction.

“Should be good,” you went on, breaking the silence. He’d started sweating in a temperature-controlled room, and somehow your nerves ran astray on the next logical reaction, “If I didn’t mess up the ingredients entirely…I mean, if you’re not going to—“

You almost took the finger into your mouth when he covered it with his. Warm tongue ran over your skin, licking up the trail of cream cheese. Moist. The lips refused to stay still. There was pressure. Little nips. Sucking, and the tongue tracing a line on your skin.

Up. Down.

Those eyes lifted up at you, pitch dark, and you couldn’t hold back a swallow.

“Poe—I…”

His lips left your finger, pressing themselves to the back of your palm. Your heart had fallen to your toes, and millions of voices echoed in your head.

“Finn,” he said, by way of replying, lips mouthing your name, “Finn.”

One word. Just one. From one Poe Dameron’s wet, wet lips, and the nerves that had been so relaxed a few moments ago from whisking egg whites knotted themselves up again.

The way he said your name sent shocks down your spine. Cold, distinct jolts. Enough disruption to make you forget the current date and time.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he muttered, arm wrapping around your waist. Pulled you close, until there were inches between your lips and his.

“You walking around like this.” Kiss at the base of your shoulder. A jolt. A shudder. “ _How_.”

Was this the right way to respond?

He pressed his lips to your jawline, moist tongues tracing your skin. Heated breaths mingled with your faint ones, and you forgot the meaning of words.

“Do—do what?” It was a surprise you even managed that jumble of a sentence. His chuckle drummed in your ears.

“Would you let me,” he began, voice low, words echoing against your throat, “Let me make you feel good, Finn? Just…” A hand trailed down your back. Lower. And squeezed your ass.

You jumped.

“Just say the word.” His voice was a murmur by now, dark notes on an unheard piano. You closed your eyes. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.” Those lips again, dampness on the side of your ear. His body was pressed up against yours, hardness between your thighs. You almost swore you saw stars.

“Promise.”

Famous last words.

He traced a finger under your chin, lifted your face up to the light.

You blinked.

“Good—uh,” your lips were a pair of sandpapers, your hands sweaty and hanging loose by your sides. “What kind of—good.”

The familiar signature smirk was on his lips. You were about to smile, when you felt his hand reaching under your shirt. Skin on skin. Callous fingers traced your stomach, and your eyes almost drifted shut.

“This kind,” he whispered. Those hands started peeling back your shirt, and you raised your arms, following, blind and curious. Alerted and intrigued.

It was as if he’d switched on a button inside you, and you’d rather exhaust the fuel before the flames burn out.

Lips followed hands. He bent his head down, started from your waistline, making his way up. Your feet took steps until they hit the wall. He’d nudged your thighs apart with his knees, and stepped into your space.

You let out gasps, as the lips did their work, hand descended on his hair (just like you wanted. Just like you’d always wanted.), and got tangled in those strands.

His lips arrived at yours in a heartbeat, and Poe kissed like the starved. His tongue wrapped around yours, taking in the taste of you. Mouth locked on, arms tightening their embrace.

“Tell me,” he panted against your lips, “Tell me when to stop.”

Well.

_Fuck._

_X-Wing Weekly’s_ Number One Bachelor was draped on top of you, lips damp and pants strained, and he’s asking you when to stop.

“D—don’t,” you let out the short word, hands sliding under his shirt. He groaned, ground his hips against yours.

_Where did that moan come from?_

He sank to his knees, lips pressing a quick kiss to the skin above your waistline. Tender hands stripped your pants and your briefs down to your feet, and you held in a breath.

“You’re gorgeous,” you heard him say, “You are, Finn.”

There’s a heaviness to your name, weighted by his tone. His lips kissed the head, and you nearly banged your head against the wall.

“Uh---fff…”

His tongue started. Slow swirls around your skin. Teeth grazing along the length. Small sucks. Long, lingering licks.

“Poe, _fuck_.” Only swear words made sense now. The cream cheese was forgotten. You’d been frozen, paralyzed to the spot where he was.

Just this point in time. (And only just.)

His eyes smiled up at you then, but you’d lost the ability to comprehend any traces of reality pooling into your head.

His tongue darted to your balls, hand sliding along your cock when his lips weren’t in service. You’d closed your eyes, hands flat against the wall, and let him take over.

Let him take you over.

“Oh…” your lips moved on their own. Your brain had left you in charge. “Fuck…that….that—“

He hummed. Vibrations around your cock. Dampness again. More pressure. More sucking. Fingers tracing your inner thighs.

Senses had kissed you goodbye, and rationale vanished the second his lips first met your skin. The volcano inside you was brimming to burst.

“Come on, beautiful.” You heard his whisper. Hoarse, like his throat had gone dry. “Come for me.”

He blew on your cock. Tongue lapped you up again. Took you into his mouth like you’re the frosting of his cupcake. Your fingers clung tight to his hair.

Came into his mouth seconds later. You’d barely felt yourself. He swallowed, and you started to feel blood rush into your veins.

Regular circulation. Must mean you’re ok, right?

“Did you like it?” he was back on his feet, eyes level with you. His lips glistened, and you itched to taste them for yourself, “Did you feel good?”

You weren’t a mind-reader, but the way he was looking at you told your mind it was only a start. A very… _good_ start.

“Did I….make you feel good?”

You grabbed him by the waist, arms around his body, turning him around so his back was against the wall. Knocked the bowl of cream cheese over the counter in the process.

(Casualties. There always were going to be some.)

“I need—“ you could taste yourself on his lips. Felt your nerves burn in your head. “I want—“ you pressed your lips to the base of his neck. Testing the waters.

“…I want you to feel good too.”

His stare pierced through you. He wrapped his arms around you, hands drifted down to your ass. Cleared his throat.

“I’m yours,” he kissed the top of your head.

“Finn, I’m yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> impromptu and unplanned second addition to my "Finn is a secret baker" series. 
> 
> How could we ever not have fun in the kitchen? :P
> 
> Feel free to drop by my tumblr - dolanx - for prompts or to let me know what you think. Would love to chat stormpilot with you!
> 
> Lots of love,
> 
> x


End file.
